10,000 Suns

by Michelle L. Levigne

  "What are we going to do, Father? I can't go back to the Sanctum, thinking you could be attacked again."

  "No concern for yourself?” He tugged her down into the chair with him. There was plenty of room, even if she was too big to perch on his lap. Challen leaned into the comforting warm embrace. She wished she were small enough to hide on his lap, where the entire world was safe and warm.

  "I'll tell O'klan what I overheard. He loathes Senyet, to begin with. I can trust him to tell the sensible eunuchs so they can protect all of us, without worrying Agrat. He'll react as if we had gone whoring, rather than be worried for our sakes. Anything that goes wrong is always our fault, deliberately done to shame him before the nobles.” Challen grinned when her father chuckled at her complaint. “I promise, I will never go anywhere alone, and I will lock myself into my rooms at night. I'm worried about you."

  "No, my dear, they will try other means to dispose of me. I suppose I should feel flattered, knowing I am a threat in their eyes. However, when my enemies focus on you to hurt me...” Shazzur drew her back against him and kissed the top of her head. “I shall tell the Prince and Asqual. We shall confide in the men we trust and watch for the next attempt."

  "Prince Doni'Mayar,” Challen sighed. “The man said something about killing half the princes. He might be the next target. We have to assume half the princes are either already in his control, or they're his partners.” She shuddered at the thought of Bainevah falling through treachery, destroyed from within instead of attacked by enemies from without.

  "Then I will be sure to warn him. But first, we must have breakfast.” He nudged her off the chair and stood.

  I wish we were back at the tower, protected by the desert, Challen decided as they linked arms and went to the kitchen.

  From the reaction of the cook and her daughter, Shazzur often made his own breakfast. Challen was glad to listen to her father gossip with them, getting their views on events in the city while they cut and toasted bread, peeled oranges and skimmed cream off the new milk to put on their hot apples. She and her father went to the courtyard garden to eat and enjoy the chill morning and the dark clouds scudding across the horizon, promising more rain. The chill and damp in the air was a new experience, and Challen could not quite grasp the tales of snow and bitter winds that would soon bury the city.

  "Where is your faithful O'klan?” Shazzur asked, as they put their tray of breakfast onto the garden table.

  "Waiting outside with the bearers. Don't worry, I saw him bring a sack of fruit and bread and a skin of new wine as we left the Sanctum. He takes good care of his people.” Challen settled on the edge of the fountain and reached for the oranges. She had never tasted oranges until she returned to Bainevah and she could not get enough of them.

  "Do you trust him with your life?” He waited until she thought, then nodded. “Fetch him."

  O'klan was surprised when Challen called him inside, but that faded quickly as father and daughter told him both sides of the story and the events of the last few days.

  "I had heard rumors,” O'klan said quietly. “If Senyet, who is Agrat's right hand, is involved with the attempted murder and this evil magic then Agrat is even more ineffective than we feared. Your testimony will help greatly, Lady, when we do arrest him. Be sure, I will protect you. Many in the Sanctum will double their alertness to protect you."

  "Thank you, O'klan,” Shazzur said. He stood and pressed his palms together and bowed to the eunuch. “When this is over, the King will know of your loyalty and your actions in this matter."

  Shazzur had one more piece of advice for Challen when she left. He walked her to the sedan chair, helped her step up into it and leaned close to adjust her veil.

  "Strive to make yourself forgettable, my dear. Lose the interest of all around you. Blend into the designs on the walls and the flowers in the gardens."

  "I don't know how to be anything than what I am,” Challen whispered back. She was glad her veil hid the tears that threatened again. “I suppose I must forego my lessons for a while, and spend more time on my clothes and hair?"

  "There is always room for improvement somewhere.” Shazzur kissed her forehead through the veil and stepped back to yank the curtains closed.

  * * * *

  Fifth Descent Moon

  Challen endured ten days of waiting before returning to the Scribes Hall. She couldn't tell Haneen the real reason, but her friend believed her excuse that the Sanctum demanded more of her time. When the other Brides asked about her changed schedule, Challen complained of aches in her eyes and frustration with her studies. Then she cultivated the friendship of the girls with the most elaborate makeup and hair, claiming a desire to have the same for herself.

  When she returned to the Scribes Hall, Challen felt mortally embarrassed to be seen with her eyes painted nearly to her temples and her hair in an intricate waterfall of braids and beads. The blurring could only cover so much, after all.

  Elzan passed her with only a bow and a passing glance. He took four steps, then stopped short. Challen continued walking. She heard him hurry to catch up, but she didn't dare look at him.

  "Challen? What happened to you?"

  "Do you mean, why haven't I come to study lately?"

  "Er—yes—exactly.” He offered her his arm and gestured at a convenient bench in an alcove.

  "I've been busy.” She glanced over Elzan's shoulder and saw O'klan settle on another bench twenty paces down the hallway. Far enough for privacy, close enough to guard her. She tugged on the silvery veil tucked into her belt and wished she had worn it, so her friend wouldn't recognize her. “It has been impressed on me that I must take greater pains with my appearance."

  "I wondered how long you could avoid the marriage market.” He visibly fought not to grin. “Your mother must be very determined, painting you to catch some useless noble's eye."

  "My—mother?” she choked.

  "I guessed your father is a scribe but your mother is part of the Court and wants you to marry higher. It's a pity she won't let you become a scribe."

  Challen determined then and there, she wouldn't tell Elzan the truth.

  "It's a crime,” he continued, “that someone so perceptive and intelligent has to become an ornament in some fool's home.” Elzan gritted his teeth. “It's a pity the higher ranks have so much less freedom than the common people."

  "Exactly!” She wished she could kiss him for giving her the words for a complaint which had eluded her for nearly two moons. “I hope when I do marry, I'll find a sensible man, who values my friendship more than my connections."

  "Your father is a scribe. Surely he can find one rich and powerful enough to please your mother."

  "My father wants me to be happy. If a friend asked...” Challen prayed her makeup was thick enough to hide her blush. Had she actually begun to hint for Elzan to ask for her?

  "Unfortunately, everyone is bound by restrictions,” Elzan said. He stood, startling Challen. “My time here is limited today. I have duties at ... when will I see you again?"

  "I can only come every eight days now, instead of every three.” She cringed at the somberness she saw in Elzan's face. Had she frightened him?

  Challen watched Elzan stride down the hall. She felt O'klan approach, but stayed seated. Suddenly, her errand to retrieve an armload of scrolls had no urgency.

  Just my horrid luck, she mused. I finally meet someone I could willingly marry and he isn't any more free than I am. She nodded to O'klan's questioning glance, assuring him she was all right. Mother Matrika, I serve you, I obey my father, I work to protect our kingdom. Please, can't I have something for myself?

  * * * *

  King Nebazz returned to his full duties after the moon dark ceremonies. Shazzur assured Elzan that acting as regent was harder than being king in his own right because every decision could be changed or negated by the King on his return. How could he be sure of the obedience of the Council or Court, when they knew his decisions were not set in stone
?

  Elzan hoped Shazzur was right, or he would be miserable if he ever did take the throne. He told his mother so when he visited her two days later at the Healers Temple.

  "That alone shows your wisdom, my hawk.” Lady Mayar chuckled at his sour look. “Consider ... if you only saw power and pleasure and the freedom to do as you wished, even after serving in your father's place, I would doubt your wits. You see the burdens you will bear someday as king, and you do not flee. Bainevah will be blessed when you wear the crown."

  "How can you be so sure I will be named Crown Prince?” Elzan dropped onto the long couch opposite her worktable and lay back, rubbing his aching temples with his knuckles. “Sometimes I wish I could just walk away from Bainevah."

  "But you cannot, because you love the land and you know, deep inside, you are the only one fit to care for our people once your father is gone."

  "If that came from my mouth, it would sound supremely arrogant.” He chuckled and gazed up at the vine leaves painted on the pale gold ceiling.

  "What would you do if you could abandon the throne without a worry?"

  "Do?” He frowned at the ceiling. “I don't really know. I've thought about it sometimes, but ... I wouldn't stay in the Host, like Rushtan. Though I envy him. He knows where he belongs."

  "So do you, but there are too many who try to deny you the place you were born to fill."

  "If that were the only reason!” Elzan sat up and rested his elbows on his knees, his chin on his fists. “I would like to be free to study as much as I wished. If the Hidden City is destroyed, I'd like to rebuild it. And I would go there for a year to do nothing but study. Maybe two or three years."

  "How exciting. Live in a room full of scrolls. Wouldn't you get bored?” his mother asked, with just the slightest teasing richness in her voice.

  "Not with the right ... company."

  Challen's face filled his mind, her eyes bright, her face lit from within, as it had been when they discussed several passages they had discovered separately, which merged like two halves of a puzzle block. That had been a pleasant, invigorating half hour stolen from their restricted lives, and Elzan wished it could have been hours. He still dreamed of taking Challen into his arms and learning her body was sweet and soft and as fascinating as her wit and wisdom. Their many meetings had helped him learn enough self-control he could talk rationally with her now without fearing she would look into his eyes and read his desires.

  "Company?” she prompted, when he had been quiet too long.

  "I'm sorry, Mother.” He tried to bring his thoughts back to the present. “There's—I met a scribe's daughter. She doesn't know who I am, and I want to keep it that way. I'm simply Elzan, another scribe. If I could be free, I would beg her to marry me. But I can't marry the girl I want, can I?"

  "A scribe's daughter? Which scribe?"

  "I don't know her father's name. We never talk beyond histories and old rituals. But I know she adores oranges and she hates silly, fussy hairstyles and she has to keep up a blurring around herself while she's in the Hall—"

  "A blurring?"

  "I can see through it if I concentrate. Someone wants her to marry above her station and makes her use the blurring like a veil. Poor Challen has to paint herself like a doll and wear fancy clothes like Raheen used to love, before she got fat."

  Elzan chuckled, surprised at the connection. He particularly disliked that vapid concubine, who declared her daughter the most talented dancer in the kingdom. Rohasheen was a lovable idiot who barely had the wit not to tell her mother she hated dancing.

  "Challen?"

  "What's wrong, Mother?” He got up, taking three steps to her table before Lady Mayar shook her head and waved him away.

  "I'm fine. So your sweetheart's name is Challen?"

  "If only she were. I doubt she knows how I feel. There's no time to talk of us when we meet. She's helped me make strides in my research I never could have made before I met her."

  "Ah, a woman of many talents."

  "Now you mock me.” Elzan grinned. “You never thought I'd sound like a love-struck idiot, did you?"

  "No, but I like this new face. When will you tell her who you are?"

  "Never. I hope she never knows how I feel. Why hurt her?"

  "Perhaps you fear she will reject your love, my hawk?"

  Elzan imagined Challen's laughter fading to shock, maybe disgust—or worse, pity—when he revealed his heart to her.

  "You could be right, Mother,” he said softly.

  CHAPTER 13

  Sixth Descent Moon

  Challen met Elzan four more times in the archives as winter crept up on Bainevah. Senyet was caught helping Darhan, son of Lord Dothan of the East Gate to enter the Sanctum. He and Darhan and the Bride waiting in the garden were all brought before the King and Council. Sheelian was examined and found still a virgin; Darhan wanted to court her, not simply sleep with her. King Nebazz pardoned and married the sweethearts, then posted Darhan to the mountain wastes for three years for violating the Sanctum. It was mercy for them both, because they should have died for their sacrilege.

  Senyet died of poison before he could be questioned. There had been no chance for Song Weavers to try to see into his thoughts and learn who his co-conspirators were.

  Challen was furious and frustrated when she heard. Now they would never know who brought the magic into the Sanctum and controlled the soldiers who tried to kill the King. She fumed to Elzan the next time she saw him and her scribe friend cautioned her to remain quiet.

  "What if a conspirator overhears us talking and thinks you know more than you do?” He squeezed her hand. “I couldn't take it if I were to blame for harm to you."

  Challen nodded that she understood. She couldn't speak. The mere touch of his hand, warm in contrast to the chill that had settled into her bones with winter made her feel weak and giddy.

  * * * *

  The moon dark ceremonies passed and the other Brides grew more giddy, more worried about possible husbands and the latest fashions. If that were possible. Challen couldn't understand the frantic interest in what she considered useless occupations. It was more important to keep warm. She hated winter. Snow had been exhilarating the first few times it fell, then the damp turned to ice in her bones.

  "Thank goodness solstice is only a moon quarter away,” she remarked to four girls who had become friends.

  Amilia dropped the vase of winter berries and balsam boughs she had spent two hours arranging. Mashana squeaked and nearly fell off the couch where she had giggled and whispered with Daniana—who did fall, biting her tongue so she spattered blood on her sky blue gown when she wailed. Tamisra sat very still and went completely white. The common room smelling pleasantly of apple wood and cinnamon from the braziers suddenly grew too quiet and the air took on a bitter tang of fear.

  "What is wrong with all of you?” Challen snapped. She stomped over to help Amilia pick up the shattered vase.

  "Solstice,” Amilia whispered.

  "So?"

  "The Sacred Marriage,” Tamisra said with surprising calm.

  "Oh.” Challen felt a little weak-kneed and silently scolded herself to use common sense. “Are you all eligible?” Four nods. “Who else?"

  Vashina, Susin, and Magreth were eligible. Sheelian who had left had not been eligible. Vashina and Mashana would be set free after solstice.

  "Seven Brides and only one goes to the King,” Challen said. “Shall I calculate the odds against any of you being chosen?"

  Her badgering tone helped more than her common sense words. Tamisra was the first to smile.

  When O'klan came to summon them to dinner, Challen asked him to gather Court gossip to help distract her friends from their worries. He approved of her plan. Then, his smile fading, O'klan slipped a tiny parchment packet into her hand. She slipped it into the tight sash of her dress, thanked him with a nod, and followed him to the communal dining hall.

  The paper held a message from Shazzur. As solstice nea
red, the people grew restless and uneasy. Rumors birthed quickly and died slowly. The cold weather aggravated the King's healing wounds. Rumors said he could not perform the Sacred Marriage. If the people lost faith in the King, the kingdom would suffer; the damage from the failure that summer would multiply.

  Shazzur warned Challen to guard what she said and did, and watch and record the slightest irregularity. An attack against the Sanctum could further harm the people's faith.

  Challen sent a note with O'klan the next day, acknowledging her father's orders. She told him her friends feared now, instead of delighting in the honor. Reality had a sobering effect on even the most giddy or arrogant. Even Vashina was losing her acid tongue and talked less of her importance.

  * * * *

  The tension began to affect Challen as the solstice grew nearer and the Bride had yet to be chosen. Because of the sabotage at the last Sacred Marriage, the Bride's name would not be announced until she had gone into the chamber with the King. The girls themselves wouldn't know who was chosen until the night before.

  Nerves and the penetrating cold of the worst storm in decades made them all comrades and forged a tenuous truce among the warring factions among the Brides. They were all sitting around the braziers in the common room when Agrat and his staff came with the gold-covered box that held the lots for choosing.

  A storm raged outside and this was the warmest room in the Sanctum, but Challen felt the temperature drop when the girls noticed the eunuchs standing in the doorway. Several gasped, and for a moment it seemed all the air had been sucked from the room. Challen wished she had sought solitude in her room, to get some more studying done. She had come to encourage her friends and to find more warmth than the tiny brazier in her room could provide. The smell of fear grew strong, cloying in the air as the Head Warder set up the box on the long table in the center of the common room. He drew out the tiny wax tablets and the stylus to write the names of the Brides for the choosing.

  One by one, Agrat called the names of the girls who were eligible for the ritual. They approached him, said the ritual prayer for Mother Matrika's guidance and blessing, wrote their names on the tablets and dropped them into the box. When they were finished, Agrat walked around the room, turning the closed box over in his hands, mixing the tablets and creating a rattling racket that grated on Challen's nerves.